To Judge a Book By Its Cover
by ShrugDuckie
Summary: The sequel to Reading Between the Lines. Two years have gone by since Claire Woods destroyed the plot Harry Potter books. With the help of two old friends, will she be able to repair the damage she caused to the fantasy world she loved? Read to find out..
1. The Knock On the Door

**a/n) **Welcome, one and all, to the long-awaited sequel to **_Reading Between the Lines_**. (I sound so modest there, don't I?) Well, okay, I guess it's up to you, the reader, to decide what is "long-awaited" and what isn't. But I seem to remember a lot of you telling me to hurry up and write the sequel; therefore I assumed it was "long-awaited," as mentioned above. If my assumption was incorrect, my most sincere apologies. (bows)

So…here we are again. Another story. If you haven't read the first story, I _strongly_ suggest reading it before you continue—it's hard to re-explain details and the recap might not be enough to fully explain everything that went on in the first story. If you know _anything_ about it, you know that the details are _everything._ For everyone that's already read the first story, While I've got your attention in this author's note, let's take a moment to recap what happened on Claire Wood's previous adventure into the Harry Potter books:

(ahem)

On her 12th birthday, Claire Woods received a present for which she had been waiting for nearly three years—_Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. Like most avid Harry Potter fans, she was devastated by the death of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, at the end of the novel. In order to cheer herself up, she began re-reading the series—but no matter what she did, she could not get over the fact that Sirius was now gone. The books were more than just books to her; they were like her best friends, and the loss of one of her favorite characters came as a heavy blow.

Not long after she finished _Order of the Phoenix_, Claire's great-grandmother came to visit on a rainy afternoon. That night, when Claire was in the middle of reading _Prisoner of Azkaban_ in her bedroom, the old woman came in to chat. The two began discussing the death of Sirius and how Claire would do anything if she could somehow change the course of events in the story, in order to prevent the dreadful event in the Department of Mysteries from ever taking place. Intrigued by her great-granddaughter's determination, the old woman laid her hands on the young girl's head, left the room, and Claire soon fell into a deep slumber. When she woke up, Claire was in the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Putting two and two together, Claire soon realized that she had fallen into the part of _Prisoner of Azkaban_ she had last read. A world of opportunities was now open to her; she began formulating a plan to somehow change the events of the story she inhabited, in order to _somehow_ change what happened in the books later on in the Department of Mysteries…and a few other details she didn't particularly care for.

Unfortunately, things didn't go as smoothly as she had planned. She found herself in detention a handful of times and, therefore, on the wrong side of the teachers—the potion's master in particular. (But could you blame him? She blew up a cauldron full of Sleeping Potion, putting the entire class into a stupor while she wrote on his face with Inerasable Ink!) Without meaning too, she came into contact with Harry, Ron, and Hermione several times, and suddenly realized she was a main character in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_.

With the help of a mysterious (and rather sarcastic) talking owl sent to her by her great-grandmother, Aquinas, she managed to get things back on the right track…sort of. She discovered that she was not the only fan inside the story—her brooding classmate, Robin Gregory, had received the special Gift as well. Robin tried to warn Claire of the consequences of getting too involved with the characters, but Claire was too stubborn and star-struck to listen. She ended up attending Patronus lessons with Harry and altering the plot in a major way: Harry hadn't learned how to properly conjure a Patronus, which caused his godfather's, as well as his own, early death at the end of the book.

Robin and Claire teamed up to try and repair Claire's mistake and save Harry's life, Robin being the main genius behind the idea. Their plan could have worked, too…if a certain angry potion's master hadn't gotten in the way. The pair of girls ended up having to flee out of the books after a run for their very lives, not knowing if several key characters had been seriously injured or killed, and realizing that several fans, one livid girl in particular, Bethany, were plotting to get revenge against them for destroying the Potter books and the fantasy world which was so dear to their hearts. To make matters worse, when Claire returned back to the real world, she discovered that her great-grandmother had passed away during the night; her last chance to return into the books and fix things was gone.

Now…

Two years have passed. Claire is fourteen years old and strangely mature for her age. Her parents are confused by her sudden change of personality (she used to be so spunky and full of life), but as far as they know she's never been the same since the death of the great-grandmother she was so close to. Claire is rarely seen smiling and tends to spend hours at a time alone in her room, pouring over books. She doesn't go out with friends—in fact, she doesn't really care to have friends any more. When her mother and father confront her about her strange behavior, she merely says her best friends in life were lost, possibly never to be found. Her teachers send her to the school pyscologist several times during the year, worried that something isn't quite right, but no one can figure out why she is acting so differently than the Claire she was before.

The summer before her second year of high school, the sixteenth of July to be precise, is where our story starts…

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**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form. I also don't own the snippets of Nickelback lyrics in this chapter. (It is NOT a songfic, don't freak out, people!) Thank you very much.

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**Chapter 1: The Knock on the Door**

_Try not to think about it._

A two of hearts. She couldn't do anything with it. What she really needed was a seven in either spades or clubs. She set it down in the steadily-growing discard pile, and as she did so her gaze fell unwillingly upon her bookshelf. The book was just sitting there, waiting until she obsessively flipped through its pages again, searching for anything that would give her a hint, a clue of some sort…

She forced her eyes down again on the cards in front of her.

_You know there's nothing in there. Don't think about it!_

The Jack of diamonds. She couldn't do anything with that either. She tossed it a little harder than she meant to into her discard pile and sighed heavily.

Yes, it was true—Claire Woods was reduced to playing Solitaire in order to keep her mind off of Harry Potter. Sure, there used to be a lot of other kids across the world that had to play games all afternoon in order not to wet themselves with excitement on the days the books and movies were being released…but not any more. Claire had seen to that; she was now certainly the only one in the world who was thinking about Harry and his friends.

She was fighting a losing battle, if truth be told. Not even endless hours of pointless card games could make her forget the guilt. It had sat there on her shoulders, weighing her down helplessly for the past two years.

Claire ran a hand over the top of the cards, knocking them all asunder and pushing them into a pile. She left them there on the floor as they were; knowing her daily routine, she was sure to come back to the cards later.

_An Exploding Snap game would probably blow up if I just left it sitting there in a pile like that—_

She ended this unfinished thought with a painful twang of her heart. Exploding Snap…she had played that game with Harry, Ron, Fred, and George once…but she didn't want to remember that. Memories could be very painful things sometimes.

Claire flopped back onto her bed, punching the button on her alarm clock that would turn on the radio. Meaningless music. Certainly _that_ could take her mind off things…

"_Someday, somehow, I'm gonna make it all right, but not right now. I know you're wondering wheeeen…"_

…or maybe not. She glared at the radio.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot," she said aloud, pulling a pillow towards her and pressing it over her face to block out the music. Sure, she could have just turned it off, but that required energy—something she didn't have a lot of any more.

She narrowed her eyes underneath the pillow. Claire knew perfectly well that her parents were downstairs in the kitchen at this very moment on the phone with a physiatrist in the city, trying to see if he could somehow fit their daughter into his busy schedule. She knew that everyone was worried about her, about how she wasn't eating or sleeping regularly and not making many friends at school, but quite frankly she had seen enough doctors in the past two years to last a lifetime. What was she supposed to say to them, anyway?…

"I'm sorry, I'm a little depressed because I jumped into a fantasy story that I loved more than life itself and basically destroyed it. Oh, and I went in twice, which caused the woman who sent me to die because she was too old to handle the magic or whatever the hell it was that sent me back when I wasn't supposed to be going again anyway. Do they make a pill for that?"

She allowed herself a hollow chuckle and rolled over to face the wall.

Of course, her parents had sat in here with her until they were ready to cry because Claire wouldn't tell them what was wrong. That was one of the things that hurt her the most. She couldn't explain to them the reasons why she spent so much time locked upstairs, pouring over her Harry Potter books, looking for some clue telling her where she could go from here.

"_Now the story's played out like this, just like a paper-back novel. Let's rewrite an ending that fits, instead of a __Hollywood__ horror…_" sang the radio on her nightstand.

"I'm trying!" she said to the radio, as if it were accusing her of doing nothing. "I am!"

Even though her great-grandmother was dead, Claire knew there still had to be _some_ way she could get back into the story and make things right. Her great-grandma couldn't have been the only Bestower on the planet; somehow, other kids had been able to get into the story, just like Claire had been able to. She was hoping if she read between the lines of the books, there might be some sort of clue hidden in them, telling her where she could find someone who could send her back into the story. So far, she hadn't had much luck.

A voice sounded in her head, as if it had been recorded there long ago.

_Shouldn't you have read between the lines _before_ you mutilated everything?_ said the voice sarcastically.

Claire sighed, remembering a small, feathery friend that had once tried to help her fix things when she had still been inside _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._ Aquinas—that was his name. He was a tiny, smart-aleck talking owl. If only she knew what had happened to him, she was certain he would be able to tell her what to do in her present situation. Aquinas always had answers.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

She looked over at the door.

"Claire?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Come in, Mom."

The door tentatively creaked open.

"Everything all right?" Mrs. Woods asked her daughter.

Claire sat up on the bed and folded her hands in her lap.

"Fine," she answered. She bit her tongue before she added, "Just like I was twenty minutes ago when you asked me."

"Good, good," Mrs. Woods said. She looked tired. "Honey, your father and I are going out—to the store. Can you keep an eye on your brother for a little while?"

Claire flashed her mother half a smile, trying to play the part of someone who was "fine."

"Sure, Mom," she said. "No problem."

"Thank you, sweetie," her mother said. "Do you need anything—from the store, I mean?"

"Oh…no, I don't think so."

"All right…well, call if you think of anything, or need anything, okay?"

"I will."

Her mother departed, shutting the door softly behind her.

Claire leapt off her bed and dashed over to her bookshelf, seizing the thick book that had been taunting her all afternoon, knowing she wouldn't be able to resist looking through it one more time. Lowering herself to the floor, all sense of grace or manner forgotten, she began flipping to the end of the book, searching, hoping…

_"ENOUGH!"_ _Snape __bello__wed, pointing his wand at Lupin._

_There was a flash of light as he fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. Harry held his breath. Was he…?_

_"NO!" Claire shouted, taking a step towards him._

_"STEP ASIDE, YOU FOOLISH GIRL!" Snape shouted at her._

_Hermione, Ron, and Black were staring at Lupin. He wasn't moving…_

Claire sighed heavily.

"…_How the hell'd we wind up like this? Why weren't we able to see the signs that we missed? And try and turn the tables…" _Claire heard the radio through her cluttered thoughts. Remus Lupin had been killed because of her. Every single time she read this page the knife in her heart seemed to twist deeper within her flesh. The guilt was surely enough to kill her…

She continued to read:

_Snape turned his wand on Harry instead._

_"You are too much like your father for your own good, __Po__tter," he snarled, "and your pitiful godfather as well. I was going to take him back to the dementors, but this opportunity is too great to miss…"_

_He turned towards Black._

_"Good riddance…" he muttered._

_"NO!"_

_Without even being aware of doing it, Harry ran at Snape with all the force he could muster, shoving him aside. Claire and Robin had bravely stepped between Sirius and the tip of Snape's wand, and Ron and Hermione were both pointing their wands threateningly in the direction of the fiasco, ready to strike._

_Snape laughed, a high, cold laugh that reminded Harry of the nightmares he'd been having for the past three years…_

_He was saying something, but Harry didn't hear a word. He was drawing his wand, wanting nothing more than to curse the man before him to pieces._

_"EXPELLIARMUS!"_

_Harry was propelled into the back wall. As he slid down to the floor, leaving a trail of blood behind him, he knew it was no use. He was cornered, trapped…But he had to try to do something._

_"The Dark Lord should have defeated you long ago, Potter," Snape was muttering as he advanced upon Harry, who was struggling to stand, wanting nothing more than one last attempt to save his godfather. "I shall do the job for him tonight…"_

_Harry froze. Claire and Robin were shouting. Ron and Hermione were taking a breath to cast a spell._

Claire stopped there for a moment, puzzling as she had puzzled so many times before.

_"…Let's rewrite an ending that fits, instead of a __Hollywood__ horror…"_ the radio sang ever-onward.

What had Snape meant when he said that? _"The Dark Lord should have defeated you long ago…I shall do the job for him tonight…"_ Hadn't Dumbledore always said that Snape was on their side? If he was, why would he try and kill Harry—and Ron and Hermione, and Claire and Robin for that matter? Something here wasn't right…Was it something Claire and Robin had caused unintentionally by being there? Or was part of the story being revealed earlier than it was meant to be shown?

Well, Claire knew she would never know the answer to that. She was holding the last novel of the series in her hands. As soon as she had returned from her great-grandmother's funeral she had done her research: J.K. Rowling had decided to discontinue writing the Harry Potter books. The third was unpopular enough to make Warner Bros. drop the movie deal, and her publishers drop her stories in turn. All because of Claire no one even knew who Harry was any more, other than a boy wizard who could have been famous if it wasn't for the insertion of a character that just didn't fit.

She stood up from the floor, holding the book tightly to her and walking over to her window. The highway ran behind her house. Normal people in normal cars, going about their normal business. Claire knew her life would never be normal again. She wouldn't—couldn't—rest until the wrongs had been righted. She had to find a way…

".._Someday, somehow, I'm gonna make it all right, but not right now…I know you're wondering when…"_

Maybe, she could—

_Diiiiiing-dong!_

Claire spun around. Someone was at the door. She sighed, throwing the book down on her bed.

_Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock!_

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Sheesh, let's have some patience…"

Claire thudded down the stairs and walked up the door. She put her eye to the peephole. It was some kid, probably selling something for some school fundraiser. She rolled her eyes and opened the door, intending to shoo them away onto the next unfortunate house.

"Look, I don't want any magazines or candy bars or whatever it is you've got—" Claire said rudely, not even bothering to look the kid in the eye.

"That's your problem, Woods," said a familiar voice. "You never look before you leap—or in this case, speak."

Claire looked up.

What she saw was no student selling frivolous stuff after all—it was a girl about her age. She had thick blonde hair with black extensions that looked like it had been run through a straightening iron several times in attempt to get out an annoying curl. Her bright eyes were masked with a lot of dark make-up and eyeliner and from her ears hung several earrings, including large, bright red guitars. She wore extremely baggy black pants held up by several studded belts and a large black _Rancid_ T-shirt. She folded her arms, which were covered with bracelets and ending in long, black fingernails, looking pleased with herself.

"So, are you going to let me in or what?" she asked.

Claire couldn't do anything but gawk, hoping she wasn't just seeing things. She closed her eyes, shook her head rapidly, and opened them again. The girl was still there, tapping her foot impatiently. Claire swallowed hard and managed to get out a single word:

"_Robin?"_

_

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_

**a/n) **DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaa! (I bet you missed the theme music, didn't you! I bet you couldn't wait to hear it, huh!) So…Robin has tracked down Claire. Will the girls be able to figure out where to go from here! Does Robin already _know_ where to go! Has hope been restored! Well, just sit back and wait for the next chapter, kiddies, for only then will you know the answers…


	2. A Foggy Road

**a/n:** Hello again, everyone! My my, not a lot of reviews last chapter. Although not many of you take the extra two seconds to press the little "Submit Review" button at the bottom of the screen when you finish the chapter, I know that you guys are still reading it. How do I know this, you ask? Why, because the site tells me so, silly! You can't hide! (Haha.) Anyway, please enjoy the chapter. Reviews are appreciated, but if it strains your finger to press the button, please don't injure yourself on my account. (winks)

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**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, but I do own this shirt that says "Voldemort Can't Stop the Rock!" YAH HARRY AND THE POTTERS—THE BEST BAND EVER! My friends (a couple of which are amazing authors on this site! .) and I went to go see them and we had the time of our young lives! YAY! (dances around, still giddy from the concert)

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**Chapter 2: A Foggy Road**

"The one and only," Robin replied, smiling in a satisfied sort of way. "Now, Woods, we have some things to do, so you really can't leave me out here all day."

"I—I can't believe it!" Claire said, because it was the only thought in her head.

"Believe it," Robin insisted.

Claire shook her head once again for good measure, looked up and saw Robin still standing there, and then stepped aside to let her pass. As she was shutting the door, she had another thought.

"Uh—my parents are out," Claire explained, "and they don't really like me letting people in while they're gone. I mean, _I _know you, but they have no idea who you are and they weren't going to be gone very long—"

"Don't worry about it," Robin said, looking down at her watch. "We'll be long gone before they get back."

Claire cocked an eyebrow at her old friend.

"Where exactly are we _going?_" she asked slowly.

Robin wasn't really listening, she was looking around at the den, observing old school photographs of Claire and her brother and cheesy nick-knacks brought home from family vacations. She paused in her analyzing and looked up.

"I've got some things to explain to you," Robin said, "and I'm certain you have some things to explain to me. Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Uh—well, I guess my room—"

"AHEM!"

The girls spun around to see Claire's brother, Dylan, standing there impatiently, a jar of chunky peanut butter in his hands.

"Mom said you were going to feed me lunch," he said in a demanding tone.

Claire glared at him. He was being irritating on purpose because there was a guest in the house. Little brothers had a way of doing that.

"Not _now_, Dylan," Claire said, trying to get rid of him quickly before he said something rude to Robin, which little brothers also had a way of doing. "You're six years old, I think you're perfectly capable of making yourself a sandwich. So just go back in the kitchen—"

It was too little too late, unfortunately. It turned out Dylan wasn't really hungry at all, he just wanted to see who rang the doorbell. Side-stepping his sister, he stared inquisitively at Robin.

"Who's _that?_" he asked, as if Robin was the most bizarre thing he'd ever seen.

Robin, however, didn't mind.

"I'm a friend of your sister's," she said, stepping forward and shaking the little boy's hand formally. "Pleasure to meet you."

Dylan merely stared.

"You look funny," he said.

Claire squirmed uncomfortably, trying to talk over him so he'd go away. "Okay, Dylan—that's enough—c'mon, go away—"

Robin just laughed.

"Yes, I hear that a lot," she replied with a smile.

Now it appeared Dylan thought she was insane. He took a couple steps back, clutching the peanut butter very tightly and said to his sister, "You're not supposed to let strangers in the house."

"She's not a stranger, Dylan!" Claire insisted. Her ears felt hot, embarrassed of her questionable little brother. "Just go in the kitchen and make yourself some lunch, Robin and I are just going up to my room to hang out for a little while. Mom and Dad won't care."

The boy looked between the two of them, the twinkle in his eye of one who was thinking of nothing other than tattling, and then he retreated into the other room.

"I'm really sorry, Robin," Claire said, feeling terrible. "It's just—he's only six, you know, he's a real pain sometimes—"

Robin cut her off.

"Don't worry about it, I get it all the time," she insisted. "Just direct me to your room so we can exchange stories."

Claire showed her up the stairs and into her room. Robin also looked around in here for a moment, noticing the pile of playing cards on the floor and the radio on in the corner. Claire, however, sank into her desk chair, feeling a bit light-headed.

"So, I'm guessing you made it out of the book all right?" Claire asked. She hadn't been sure back when they were about to be blown to smithereens whether or not grabbing Robin's arm would take her home as well.

"Perfectly fine," Robin replied, taking a seat on Claire's unmade bed and making herself comfortable. "Thanks to you, of course."

Claire merely nodded, a thousand questions scrabbling around in her head. She decided to just pick a random one and start from there.

"How did you _find_ me?" Claire asked. "I looked for you for ages, but I gave up—I tried every idea I could think of! I called every 'Gregory' in every phonebook we had but none of them were the right one. Then I tried using stuff on the internet but it just didn't work—"

"Yeah, I started out that way, too," Robin said. "I called every 'Woods' I found, tried some of those high school reunion things on the internet—you know, they give you addresses and stuff so you can track down old school friends—but I didn't know your parents' names, so that didn't work so well. I started collecting phonebooks and calling all the 'Woods' in there but my then parents realized that I was the reason our phone bill was so high, so I was reduced to hoping I would just run into you somehow."

Claire waited for her to go on, but she didn't.

"And?" Claire urged her. "I'm assuming it worked?"

Robin nodded, smiling triumphantly.

"It did," she said. "I'm guessing your parents have sent you to a lot of doctors recently?"

Claire blinked.

"How did you know that?" she asked.

"Because your dad just happened to call one of the ones my parents have been sending me to since I was ten," she explained. "It was really lucky, actually. I was sitting in the waiting room when I heard the receptionist call over to the doctor, saying that a 'Mr. David Woods' was on line three, wanting to know if he could make an appointment for his daughter."

Claire's eyes widened.

"So wait a minute—that means you must live in this area, if you were in one of the doctor's offices my parents took me to," Claire said, trying to piece this together. "If that's true, then why weren't you in the phonebook?"

Robin shook her head.

"I live in New York," she said. "Your parents must have been planning on taking you there."

Claire gasped, realizing that the family vacation her parents had been planning for next month was all just another hoax in hopes that their daughter would finally explain to them what had happened to her, why she had changed. Her eyes fell to the floor and she could feel her blood pumping in her ears. Her temper was worse than a wild animal these days.

"I'm sorry, Claire," Robin said sincerely. "I know that must be hard for you to hear, but that's how I found out where you were."

Claire just shook her head and asked, "It's not your fault. They just think I've been acting weird ever since…well, ever since I got back. Not that they know I was even gone, but…" She sighed and waved her hand. "Anyway, that's not the point. Just because you heard my last name in a doctor's office you knew I lived several states away? And my exact _address,_ for that matter?"

Robin grinned mischievously.

"It was actually very simple," she explained, looking pleased with herself. "Let's just say I got all the information by 'causing a distraction.' The rest is really unimportant."

Claire couldn't help but grin, too. It seemed like more of Claire had rubbed off on Robin than she thought.

"That still doesn't explain how you got here," Claire continued. "You didn't hitch-hike, did you?"

"A little of that, a few busses, a taxi—bottom line, I got here," Robin said with a shrug.

Claire looked wary. Robin didn't notice.

"Anyway, I was hoping _you_ would have the brains not to be here when I arrived," Robin said, narrowing her eyes.

"Huh?" Claire said. "What are you talking about?"

"You have a Bestower in your family!" Robin said exasperatingly. "She could have sent you back, or at least told you how to get back another way! Have you at least _asked_ your grandma about it? What did she say?"

Claire didn't know how to respond. Robin sat there, looking so eager, having no idea what had happened when Claire had returned from the books. Forcing herself to meet Robin's eyes, Claire jumped into the explanation.

"My great-grandmother is dead, Robin. She passed away in her sleep—I found out the morning I got back."

Robin looked stunned.

"Oh my—wow, I'm sorry, Claire. I had no idea—but that makes sense, now. The physcologist your dad called specializes in helping kids deal with death. I suppose I should have figured…" Robin put a hand to her mouth and lowered her eyes to the floor, thinking.

"She was perfectly healthy when she came to visit that day," Claire said, feeling the need to go on. "The only reason they said she died was that she was under a lot of stress or a lot of _pressure_,or something like that. If you're putting two and two together, I think the reason she died is that it took a lot of extra—whatever—to send me back into the story the second time. It's my fault she's dead."

Robin looked up and shook her head, saying, "Don't be ridiculous, that can't be how it happened. I mean, she was your _great-_grandma, right? So she wasn't exactly young any more…"

"Still, don't you think it's a bit of a coincidence that she died the same night she sent me back into the book?" Claire said, as if defending the fact that she was definitely the reason the old woman had been dead for the past two years.

Robin shrugged and mumbled, "I don't know…"

There was a moment's lapse in the conversation before Robin spoke again, "So—I'm assuming you have no idea how to get back?"

"I've looked over the books a million times, but got nowhere," Claire answered.

Robin narrowed her eyes.

"So you've basically given up, have you?" she snapped. "You've done _nothing _for two whole years? I understand you were mourning, but c'mon, Claire—"

"That's not true!" Claire snapped right back, jumping to her feet. "I've been working my butt off! Here, I'll show you if you don't believe me—"

Claire turned around and began rummaging through one of the drawers in her desk. At the very bottom of it she found what she was looking for: a thick, black notebook. She threw it at Robin.

"If you call that nothing, I'll eat the pages," Claire snarled, shooting daggers through her eyes.

Looking skeptical, Robin opened the notebook that had been tossed at her. As she flipped through each page, however, her eyes darted back and forth faster and faster, and her expression grew less and less angry. In fact, if Claire didn't know any better, she'd say that Robin looked rather impressed.

"Wow…" Robin said, studying a diagram Claire had sketched. "I never thought I'd say this, Woods, but you certainly _have_ done your homework! This will be helpful—_very _helpful, actually—I think we may have a chance! They'll definitely think more highly of you after they see this! I was hoping we wouldn't have to see them at _all_ …but, under the circumstances…"

Claire was nodding happily along to Robin's compliments up until that last part.

"Who?" she asked, her face twisting into a quizzical expression once again.

Robin shut the notebook and jumped to her feet, looking around.

"You got a computer somewhere?" she asked randomly.

Claire blinked, bewildered.

"Uh—yeah. It's downstairs in the living room—"

"Perfect. Lead the way," Robin said, striding over the door and opening it for her.

Claire, however, wasn't leaving the room until she had some more answers.

"Why do you need a computer?" she asked.

"I have to show you, it's too hard to explain," Robin said. "Do you still have your Hogwarts robes?"

Claire nodded.

"Get them," Robin said. "Hurry up, we're burning daylight."

"Burning daylight!" Claire said, pushing clothes out of the way in her closet to get to the back where she had hidden the robes. "It's 11:30 in the morning! We've got _plenty_ of daylight!"

"No we don't," Robin said as Claire walked out the door, her robes draped over her arm as she walked down the stairs. "I figured we could just go to your grandmother's and she could send us back—you know, since she broke the rules once, I figured she wouldn't mind doing it again—but that option's out now. We've got a lot farther to go than I thought. Damn, I should have gotten here earlier—move faster, Claire—"

"Don't shove me!"

Claire led the way into the living room, where the computer sat on a desk in the corner. She made her way over to it and punched in the password to turn it on. Robin automatically sat down in the chair in front of the monitor.

"Let's see…Internet Explorer…" She double-clicked the large blue "e" on the desktop. "Now we just have to go to…"

Robin clicked on the address bar and typed an acronym: S.M.O.G.

"_S.M.O.G.?_" Claire asked.

"It stands for the 'Strict Monitoring Of Gifts'," Robin explained.

Claire was now even more confused than she had been before.

"What—?"

"Shh!"

Naturally, the computer had no record of any S.M.O.G. organization. On the screen instead was a list of websites similar to "S.M.O.G.," most about air quality or the day's whether. At the very top it said things like, "_Did you mean**smog**?" _or _"Try the Advanced Search **here**."_

"Scroll down…" Robin was muttering instructions to herself. "Aha! Bingo!"

Claire squinted to see what her curser was pointed to. At the very bottom right-hand corner of the screen, there was a minute word that Claire seriously doubted the average person ever noticed: S.M.O.G.I.S.H.

"_S.M.O.G.I.S.H.?_" Claire asked.

"I think that's supposed to stand for 'Strict Monitoring Of Gifts IS Here'," Robin answered, clicking on it.

Claire thought that one over for a minute and said, "But 'is' has—there's still the 's'! That's not a proper acronym at all!"

Robin shook her head and replied, "Don't ask me. Whoever came up with that one must be a real idiot."

Claire privately agreed as they waited for the screen to load. Finally, the little hourglass changed back into an arrow, and the loading status in the right-hand corner said "Done." But the screen remained as blank white as ever.

"Did it freeze again?" Claire said, trying to reach for the mouse.

Robin slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch it, it's not frozen," she said, standing up and running out of the room to the front door, which she pulled open and grabbed a bag she had left on the porch. Claire didn't understand why she hadn't just brought it in with her, but there were more pressing matters to deal with.

"It's _not_ frozen?" Claire asked confusedly. "Then what's wrong with it?"

"Nothing, it's supposed to look like that," Robin answered impatiently, rummaging through her bag, "so people who don't know what it is will just think it froze up and they'll go back to the other page. Okay, I've got my robes, my books—okay, we're set. Where's your notebook?"

Claire pointed to where Robin had set it down on the computer desk.

"Don't forget that, we're going to need all the help we can get," Robin said. "You might want to grab a jacket, too, I don't know how cold it's going to be or how long it'll take us to get there."

"Wait—what are you talking about?" Claire said. "Robin, I can't go anywhere! I can't just leave Dylan here by himself—"

"He won't even know you're gone," Robin explained. "Besides, you said your parents would be back soon anyway—"

"—at which time they will freak out because I _won't be here!_" Claire said slowly and clearly. What was so hard for Robin to understand?

"Look, Claire, you're wasting time here," Robin said in the same tone, as if explaining to a three-year-old that one and one made two. "If you want to fix the books, now's your chance. I'm going, and I'd prefer if you'd come with me, but the choice is yours."

Claire sighed, but didn't have to think any further. She ran to the hall closet and grabbed her jacket. She threw it on in a hurry and snatched up the notebook and robes from the desk.

"What do I have to do?" she asked, ready to go.

"Just follow me," Robin said. "I'll wait for you once I get in."

Claire watched as Robin reached out a hand and knocked on the screen three times. She took a deep breath and made to knock a fourth time, but this time her hand disappeared inside the screen itself, the rest of her body flying in after it.

"Robin!" Claire shouted, startled by her sudden disappearance.

But there was no response. Claire knew what she had to do, and just prayed it would work smoothly.

"Okay…" she said, positioning herself in front of the screen as Robin had. "Here goes nothing."

She raised a fist and knocked three times upon the glassy screen. As she raised her hand to knock a fourth time, she turned to look at her living room. What would her parents say when they saw she was gone? Would Dylan blow the house up in her absence? She wanted to go, _needed _to go, but what if it didn't work? What if—?

"AHH!"

A black-finger nailed hand had reached out from the screen, grabbed hold of her T-shirt, and pulled her into its depths.

"What the—?"

When Claire opened her eyes, she was standing on a dirt road underneath an overcast sky. A low-hanging fog was before them, blocking whatever lie in the distance from view. Claire turned to see Robin standing beside her, dusting off her pants.

"What was that for!" Claire demanded, also taking a moment to dust off her jeans.

"You were taking too long," Robin answered, righting herself, "and I wasn't going to let you stay behind even if you wanted to. I'll be damned if I'm going to stand before the Council by myself."

"What Council?" Claire asked, but Robin had already begun to walk forward into the fog. "You still haven't explained—hey, wait up!"

"Talk and walk, Claire, we need to hurry," Robin said over her shoulder as Claire ran to catch up.

"Okay, okay, fine," Claire said. "But will you please explain what this—this _S.M.O.G._ is?"

Robin actually laughed.

"I can't believe you never asked Aquinas where he came from, after all that time you guys were together in the book!" Robin said, smiling. "Didn't you ever wonder how your grandma got her powers, where Aquinas came from, _anything?_"

"Sure I did!" Claire snapped, feeling angry again. "But every time I asked Aquinas he'd never tell me! He said it was his own little secret and it was none of my business!"

Robin looked surprised.

"Wow, he really must have hated you," Robin said, laughing again. Claire scowled. "Anyway, my Bestower explained it all to me before he sent me into the story."

Claire was listening intently now. She'd never heard the story of how Robin had been sent into the Harry Potter books.

"S.M.O.G., or the Strict Monitoring Of Gifts society, does exactly what the name suggests," Robin explained. "They keep track of who is in what story, where they came from, who Bestowed their Gift, and, if necessary, any changes made to the story they were in."

Claire's stomach churned uncomfortably.

"I bet they have a whole room of filing cabinets on stuff about us," Claire said, holding the notebook in her arms tightly to her chest as they followed the road through the mist.

Robin nodded, looking a little greener than before.

"It's kind of like—like a big business. I guess you could call it that," Robin continued. "They have people that fill out paperwork, people to send into the stories if there's a problem, and—if they should need it—a court."

Claire swallowed.

"A court?"

"Yes," Robin said dismally. "And according to my Bestower, we have an appointment with them today."

"Today!" Claire said, now seeing Robin's urge to hurry.

"Well, my Bestower said we had to get there before today—it was kind of like our deadline—otherwise they were going to come track us down," Robin said, quickening her steps a little bit. "I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but it didn't sound too good."

"Not at all," Claire agreed, also stepping up the pace.

"So—now I'm not sure about this, so don't get mad at me if I'm wrong—but I think we've got to present our case to them," Robin said. "You know, explain why we did what we did and they're probably going to list all of—all of our _offenses_ …"

Claire's eyes widened.

"We could be there for days!" Claire said, unable to stop a chuckle.

Robin smirked as well.

"We very well could be," Robin said. "But I think we might be able to somehow work out a deal with them—maybe we can somehow convince them to let us back into the story and fix things. After all, after they see your notebook they'll know we're dedicated to repairing our mistakes."

Claire nodded, holding the notebook a little tighter in her arms.

"I don't know if it'll work," Robin said, "but it's certainly worth a shot."

It was quiet for a minute before Claire asked another question.

"Do you know what happened to Aquinas, Robin?"

Robin shook her head, "I haven't the faintest idea. As soon as you were gone—the first time—so was he. I couldn't find him anywhere."

"I hope he's all right," Claire said. "Even if he did, as you say, 'hate me'."

Robin laughed.

"So," Claire said, feeling conversational because they had a long walk ahead of them, "do you know your Bestower really well? You must have, if he told you all this stuff."

Robin shook her head, "No, not really."

"Oh…" Claire tapped her fingers on the back of the notebook. "Well—then how did he give you the Gift?"

Robin rolled her eyes.

"You don't give up, do you?" she said. Robin sighed and went on, "My brother died when he was seventeen in a freak accident. I was ten and my parents found it easier to go with anger rather than sorrow, so they spent most of their time shouting at each other—and me. It wasn't much fun, if you can imagine. Anyway, there was this little bookstore a couple blocks away from my house; I used to hang around in there a lot. That's where I found Harry Potter, actually. I spent a lot of time in there reading. My Bestower was the old man who owned the shop. He happened to be there when I finished reading _Order of the Phoenix_, saw I was pretty upset, and asked if I wanted the treat of a lifetime. You know the rest."

Claire closed her mouth, which had dropped open in surprise at the beginning of Robin's story.

"Wow," Claire said. "Robin, I'm sorry about your brother. I had no idea. Is that why—why your parents have sent you to doctors and stuff?"

Robin nodded.

"It was pretty tragic, what happened," she said. "They didn't know how to deal with it themselves, let alone help me get through it." She waved her hand impatiently. "But that wasn't the point of the story. I went in there the day after we got out of the books and asked him—my Bestower—what I was supposed to do. He explained that you and I were to report to S.M.O.G.'s headquarters before the sixteenth of July, 2005 and how we were supposed to get there."

"Through the computer?"

"Yes," Robin answered. "Naturally, I asked if he could somehow help me find you. He said he had no idea and that I would probably look better to the court if I went without you. He seemed to think most of it was your fault."

Claire gulped and watched her feet as they walked.

"And what did you tell him?" Claire asked in a small voice.

Robin looked at her.

"I told him you and I started this together, and that's how we were going to finish it," she answered, "and that I wasn't going to let my friend stand up there and take the blame for something I had an equal share in."

Claire looked up.

"Really?" she said, surprised. "That's what you said?"

"Certainly," Robin said with a grin. "You didn't honestly think I'd let you take _all_ the credit, did you?"

Claire laughed.

"I guess not," she said. "Why do you think—I mean, why _today?_ What's so special about July sixteenth?"

Robin shrugged. "Beats me. Anyway, you can ask them in just a second. We're here."

Claire looked up and gasped. Before them was a very large grey building that seemed to have just popped out of nowhere. She couldn't even see the top and there were no windows, only a single door with a symbol on the front: an open book surrounded by sparks.

She turned to look at her friend, who looked as nervous as she felt, but determined all the same.

"Are you ready?" Robin asked her.

Claire nodded.

"Let's go."

* * *

**a/n:** DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAaaa! What is awaiting Claire and Robin inside of S.M.O.G.'s headquarters? Will their trial earn them another chance to save the world of Harry Potter? And what _exactly_ is written in the notebook that Claire has been filling the pages of these past two years? It's all in the next chapter, kiddies! Sorry if this chapter bored you. As always, the chattiness was necessary for…stuff. (wink) See you in chapter three!


	3. Another Reunion

**a/n:** (tackles everyone) Did you miss me! I missed you!

I was gone for a number of reasons, none of which I feel like going into detail about on here. But I'm back now, and I missed you guys a lot! This chapter and the one after it were originally all one big, gigantic chapter, but I decided it was too long. It has been split in two to make it easier to read and organize. Chapter 4 still needs a bit of editing, but will be coming soon after this one. No lies this time.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, but I own the socks on my feet. Yay?

* * *

**Chapter 3: Another Reunion**

Claire and Robin walked boldly up to the great metal door. Both found the symbol engraved upon it very intriguing, but what was even more curious was that there was no doorknob, doorbell, or any other type of device to aid them in entering.

"What do you think we're supposed to do?" Claire asked, tracing the symbol with the tip of her finger.

"Beats me," Robin said, shrugging her shoulders. "Try something."

Unable to think of anything incredibly creative, Claire just placed her hands on the door and shoved with all her might.

"Clever," Robin said sarcastically. "Scoot over, I'll help you—"

However, Claire didn't think staying near the door was a very good idea. A bright blue ring surrounded her right hand where it was touching the steel. She tried with all her might to pull it free with her left hand, but it remained there as if glued to the surface.

"Robin, don't touch it!" Claire shouted wildly.

But too late, Robin had already begun to shove at the door. She, too, seemed unable to remove her right hand from the metal that was glowing a brilliant shade of aqua around her fingertips.

"Don't panic," Robin said, though her own voice shook slightly and her eyes were darting around in their sockets. "This is probably how it works—don't worry—"

Suddenly, the girls heard a cool voice, speaking as clearly as though someone was standing right beside them.

"Claire Marie Woods," said the voice with an efficient air. "Age fourteen years, twenty-six days. Previously inhabited _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._ Present for hearing with the High Council."

The area around Claire's hand changed from blue to red. Then the voice spoke again.

"Robin Beatrice Gregory," it said. "Age fourteen years, three months, ten days. Previously inhabited _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._ Present for hearing with the High Council."

The metal around Robin's hand glowed red as well. The girls exchanged an apprehensive glance. Many clicking noises rang through the air, as if the door was unlocking itself. Finally, the metal surrounding their hands changed color a final time to bright violet, and the door opened just a crack, waiting for them to enter.

Claire pulled her hand away quickly, relieved it hadn't been cut off or stuck to the door forever. As soon as her breathing returned to normal, she turned to Robin and grinned.

"_Beatrice?_" she said with a laugh.

Robin scowled and retorted, "Oh and _Marie _is _very _original! Yeah, never heard _that_ one before!"

Both clutching their right hands in their left, they turned their attention back to the door. There was time enough for a sharp breath and a nod before the girls pushed it open the remainder of the way and stepped inside.

"Wipe your feet on the mat, please, ladies," said the voice that had spoke to them a moment before. "The matinence staff is not too thrilled with the way you people parade in here with your muddy sneakers."

Claire was thinking of anything but the state of her shoes. It appeared they were just inside the main entrance to S.M.O.G Headquarters, and there was a great deal to look at. In front of them was a large, semi-circle, glass desk at which many women (some, by the look of them, not much older than Claire or Robin) were busily scribbling notices, punching keys on typewriters, and answering shrilly ringing phones, all dressed in a bright blue blazer suit with S.M.O.G.'s logo on the breast pocket. The walls appeared to be made of the same stainless steel as the door and they were covered with posters that said cheesy phrases like "_What the author writes is the fan's delight!" _or "_What's a good read without a good reader?"_ Several doors lead off of this main foyer, colored bright blue, and many different sorts of people were passing in and out. There were also a large assortment of animals wandering about; birds, cats, dogs, everything Claire had ever seen in a zoo, and more. A man carrying several fish in a bowl passed by, Claire gaping after him.

"Excuse me, missy!" said the voice again, sounding annoyed. "Your shoes!"

Claire focused on closing her mouth and turning around. She saw that she was being addressed by a very, _very_ short man. In fact, he was the smallest man she had ever seen. He was dressed in the same rather violent blue blazer as the secretaries and sitting atop a very high stool so that he was about the average person's height, though his little legs did not even reach over the edge of his seat. He was staring around at a great many keyboards and monitors, some of which appeared to be cameras that showed what was going on outside the fortress. His black hair was tied back in a ponytail with a matching blue ribbon and he wore an expression of great disgust.

Claire tried to talk, but all that came out was a sort of babble that neither Robin nor the little man seemed to understand. Rolling her eyes, Robin shoved her aside and took the reigns.

"Sir, we're here for a hearing with the High Court," she said.

"I know!" said the little man stoutly, pointing to one of his many screens. Upon further inspection, Claire saw that he had two files open—one with her name and one with Robin's, complete with photographs, birthdates, medical records, pet peeves, and even (she blinked a few times to make sure she read it properly) toothpaste preferences. It was like her entire life was documented on this computer file.

"I'm sure you _do_ know, sir," Robin continued. "You seem like the type of person to know many important things, like—"

"Indeed!" said the man in the same impatient tone.

"Well, sir, I was wondering—could you perhaps tell us where we're supposed to go? All I was told was how to get the Headquarters and I'm sure the Council has been waiting to see us for a very long time…"

It wasn't until then did the little man actually met their eyes, tearing them away from his precious monitors. He studied each of their faces carefully, and then began mumbling to himself, scrolling down on the screens containing the girls' files. Suddenly, he seemed to find what he was looking for. He looked up at them, smiling rather evilly.

"A long time, indeed…" he said, showing off many gold teeth. "Well, young ladies, I suggest you go up to the front desk. They will address you in matters such as where—_troublemakers _are to go."

Robin thanked him, grabbed Claire by the arm and dragged her forward towards the desk, leaving the little man cackling himself into the hiccups on his stool and almost plowing over a very frazzled looking woman who was trying to lead a battalion of leashed newts across the foyer.

"This place is nuts," Claire commented, feeling slightly dazed.

"I have a feeling we haven't seen the half of it," Robin replied. "Here we go—excuse me, ma'am?"

Robin was addressing a woman with white, frizzy hair who was punching keys on a large typewriter behind the glass desk. The phone sitting at her station had rung as soon as Robin had opened her mouth to speak.

"S-M-O-G for all your fantasy fantasies, Belinda speaking!" she said with the speed of an auctioneer. She listened momentarily and rolled her eyes. "No, _no, _Woodrow, I've already you—the badgers aren't needed until next week! And by the way, someone from _your _department needs to get down here and clear off these ridiculous talking trees; they're annoying the ferrets—"

Robin coughed impatiently. "Excuse me, ma'am, but could you tell us where—?"

"NO, Woodrow!" The woman banged a many-ringed fist down on the glass desktop, making Claire and Robin step back in alarm. "The boss said no more dwarves, they are far too fluctuant—!"

"EXCUSE me!" Robin half-shouted.

While Robin continued (rather frivolously) to get the secretary's attention, Claire was having another look around. Talking trees? Ferrets? Dwarves? What kind of place _was _this?

She was watching as two small people with bright pink hair darted past, trying to cover their heads as they ran through a door on the opposite side of the room when something strange caught her eye. There was a potted tree with legs walking slowly across the hall. Claire cocked an eyebrow at it, watching its progress with mild interest. Was this one of those talking tree things that the secretary was yelling at Woodrow about? No—then why was it still in a pot? How strange…

"Kids these days—no patience, no patience," muttered Belinda the secretary, slamming the phone on the receiver and looking up over the tops of their heads. She took a sharp breath and added, "For Pete's _sake_, put that plant down, boy! The last thing you need is to wreck the décor with all the trouble _you're_ in!"

The tree Claire had been watching seemed to sigh in defeat. As the pot slowly descended to the floor, the torso of a boy appeared. He was dark-haired and tall, with a pair of watchful, golden yellow eyes. Though she knew it was rude, Claire stared at him as he tried to shove his way through the nearest door. Those eyes…there was something oddly _familiar_ about those eyes…

And then it hit her like a bucket of ice water in the face.

"_Aquinas! _" she said in surprise. She shoved Robin aside and interrupted Belinda at the desk, "Hey! Hey, is that boy's name Aquinas? That one over there pushing that man with the cart out of the way?"

She pointed him out, though it wasn't terribly difficult, seeing as the boy was causing quite a scene, using many desperate and somewhat violent means to get people out of his way in his attempt to go through the nearest exit. Belinda squinted through the crowd and nodded, "Yes, yes, Aquinas Smith. He's an Observer here. You've met, I take it?"

"Yeah, but—but why is he _human_ And—oh good Lord, what _is_ he doing! Hey, Aquinas! HEY!"

The boy was clearly keen on not being spotted, going as far as to dive straight into a cart full of mail to hide. Claire, however, would not be thrown off so easily. A sudden fury was coursing through her veins; she could scarcely hear for the blood pounding in her ears. She ran straight through a crowd of kids and began throwing papers out of the cart in her hunt for the boy hidden beneath them, much to the dismay of the mailman.

"Excuse me, young lady, but if you'd be so kind as to step aside—" he was saying, attempting to turn the cart away and go back the way he had come.

"Where are you, you little—AHA! It IS you!" Claire exclaimed, grabbing Aquinas by his messy hair and pulling him out of the cart with strength she never knew she had.

"Lemme go! Get off!" the boy was saying, trying to pry her fingers from his scalp.

The mailman shrugged and said, "I tried, Aquinas. Sorry."

"That's okay, Rich. I appreciate the effort," Aquinas said, wincing in pain. "Let go of my hair, you imbecile! I just brushed it not two minutes ago—"

"Why didn't you ever tell me!" Claire snapped, cutting him off. "Why didn't you ever tell me about the Headquarters! I had no idea—!"

"And this concept is new to me _how_, exactly?" Aquinas said scathingly, glaring through the pain. "Seriously, let go—!"

Claire began to shake her captive.

"_Do—you—have—any—idea—what—I've—been—through—you—piece—of—_"

"Claire, what are you _doing!_ Let go of him!"

Robin hurried to the scene, prying the boy free while staring at Claire with reproachful eyes. Claire never once took her eyes off him, giving him a look to send shivers down the spine. He, however, merely brushed the dust off of his shirt and began readjusting his hair.

"_Why_ are you attacking people?" Robin asked, sounding like a mother whose child was misbehaving in a department store. "If it was to make a good impression, let me assure you that it is _not_ helping."

Claire blew a strand of hair out of her face and continued to leer at the boy, who was trying to fix his pell-mell hair style to no avail. She had absolutely no idea why she was suddenly furious with someone who had once been—at least to some extent—her friend. Perhaps it was just nice to blame someone other than herself.

"Robin, don't you know who this _is?_" Claire said. It came out as sort of a low growl.

Robin sighed and turned towards the boy, studying his features carefully. It wasn't until she caught his eyes that she jumped back in surprise.

"Whoa! Aquinas!" she said, surprised. "You know, I thought you'd be shorter."

"I wonder why," Aquinas replied, glaring about at all the employees who were staring in their direction. "The Observatory department is, shall we say, less than fond of me. They always give me completely ridiculous guises whenever I go into a story. I remember once they made me a flea—I'm still hearing wise cracks about that one."

He took notice of Claire's expression and cocked an eyebrow. The resemblance of her once feathery friend was uncanny.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to come at all," Aquinas said with mild interest, as if the weatherman had wrongly predicted thundershowers. "It probably would have been better for me if you _hadn't_, actually." He turned his attention to Robin. "I was at least expecting _you_ to get here sooner."

Robin adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and explained, "I had to find Claire first. I didn't want to come alone, and neither did she."

"You mean if I had even _known _what the Headquarters _was?_" Claire spat.

Aquinas ignored her.

"What time did you get here?" he asked Robin.

"About five minutes ago," she answered. "Do you know—?"

"That means the trial will be starting in about three minutes," Aquinas said, staring at his watch. He reached up and finished placing strips of hair over one another, so that it looked as if he had just stepped out of a wind tunnel. It was supposed to look messy, but, being Aquinas, it was oddly neat. The look suited him.

"Follow me, I'll show you where to go," he said.

He set off across the atrium, Robin and Claire hurrying along after him. They followed him through one of the many blue doors into a stone hallway with artificial torches on the walls. It was as if they were in a completely different building.

"What's going to happen at the trial?" Claire asked, her anger replaced almost immediately by nerves. "Are they just going to ask us questions? I bet that's it—I mean, they can't…they can't _punish_ us, right?"

Robin wasn't really listening. As they walked down the hall, people in blue blazers stopped and stared, and the moment the girls and Aquinas had passed they began muttering to each other behind their hands.

"They won't punish _you,_" Aquinas answered, continuing to maneuver his way passed gawking people.

"What do you—?"

"Why is everyone staring?" Robin hissed. "Is there something pinned to my back?"

"Let's just say you guys are somewhat famous around here," Aquinas answered, waiting for a gaggle of girls to get out of his way. They stared through narrowed eyes as the trio passed. "I mean, anyone would be if they almost got the program shut down."

"What?" Claire said in surprise, watching over her shoulder at the sneering girls, all dressed in the S.M.O.G. uniform.

She took notice of something else.

"Hey, Quin, how come you don't have a blazer?" she asked, pointing to his jeans and t-shirt. "Not very professional of you, now is it?"

That did it.

"_Look,_" Aquinas said sharply, spinning around to face her so quickly that Claire ran right into him. He caught her by her elbows and glared into her eyes. "This is serious business, okay? Every word you say in here involves consequences, so for once in your life, I want you to _think _before you do or say _anything ._ Your words could effect more people than just yourself. We're not playing games any more. Do you understand?"

Claire nodded mutely, heart working overtime to send fear to every part of her body. Sure, Aquinas had been angry with her before, but he had been less than a foot tall then. He was much more frightening now that he was a normal size and had reposable thumbs.

"Good," Aquinas said, releasing her and continuing on his way, Robin and Claire trying to keep up. "We'll all be tried at the same time, so don't lie. Just keep your story straight and to the point. Here we are—"

Aquinas stopped at the end of the hallway in front of two large oak doors. Another short man in a blue blazer was sitting on a stool, taking notes on a clipboard that looked larger than he was.

"We have a meeting with the Council," Aquinas informed him.

He looked up sharply, but continued scribbling at his notes without looking down at the clipboard. Claire noticed he was missing the paper by a clear inch.

"The _full_ Council?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"You heard me, pal," Aquinas said testily.

The short man let out a long, low whistle and said, "I don't even _remember_ the last time we had one of them! Must've been a clear—oh, I don't know—fifty, _sixty _years—!"

"As fascinating as this history lesson is," Aquinas said, sounding much like the little owl Claire remembered from two years ago, "we are going to be late if you don't let us pass. So why don't you write our names down on your cute little notepad and let us through? By the way, it helps if the pen is actually _on_ the paper."

The little man looked down at his notes and started, realizing he had just written half a paragraph on the clipboard instead of his note paper. Scowling, he took down their names and admitted them through the doors. Throwing one last glance over her shoulder, Claire noticed he continued to watch the three of them long after they had passed.

Beyond the door all was pitch black, except for a spotlight that was shining down upon two, straight-backed chairs in the center of the room. Aquinas made a gesture that told the girls to sit. Claire lowered herself nervously into the seat beside Robin, who was squinting around in attempt to see their surroundings. But it was pointless; all was consumed in darkness.

"Don't be nervous," Aquinas said, sounding nicer than he had since their less-than-pleasant reacquaintance. "I mean, they haven't lobbed off someone's head in about—oh—three hundred years, maybe? But, of course, that could always mean they're getting restless for some violence—"

"That's enough, Aquinas," Robin said. Claire gulped audibly. "We're going to be fine. Claire hasn't even had a chance to show you what she brought with her. It's amazing, it might even get us a second chance—"

"Pardon me, did you just say _second_ chance?" Aquinas said scathingly, cupping his hand around his ear as if he hadn't heard her correctly. "Look kid, I don't know what sort of dream world you're living in, but in this business _any_ sort of chance is rare and second chances are most certainly prohibited. And you seem to be forgetting that this would be her _third _chance." He pointed an accusatory finger at Claire.

"Would you give it a rest?" Claire hissed. "You're acting like I did something to personally offend you—"

"No kidding," Aquinas answered.

At that moment, a plump man in a feathered hat stepped out from the darkness in front of Claire and Robin. Aquinas sat in a chair against the right wall in the shadows, crossing his arms and legs while jiggling his foot in an agitated manner.

Claire turned her attention to the round man in front of her, who reminded her of Tweedle Dee.

"All rise for the Honorable High Council!" he sang out in a comical voice.

Claire and Robin rose nervously to their feet, wondering what was to come.

* * *

**a/n:** DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAAaaaa! The trial is to come—what will happen? Why is Aquinas so angry? Will the girls _really _get their heads lobbed off? You don't have to wonder for very long, for the next chapter will be up within a week.

(hugs everyone) I missed you guys!


	4. The Trial

**a/n:** (fidgets into the room, coughs nervously) Hi there. Okay, please don't kill me before I have a chance to explain why I was gone for—er—several months.

Originally, I had this chapter all finished in less than a week. Then I realized I had forgotten an important detail (and I mean VERY important detail!) that I had to go back and rework into the chapter. However, at that point, I had sort of lost my gusto to work on this fic because (fidgets again) well, I've been working on a story of my own. It sounds silly, but everything is really falling into place with it. So, while the iron was hot, I put all other stories on hold and worked on my sad excuse for a novel. I'm still working on that, don't get me wrong, but I was feeling more and more guilty as time went on for just leaving you guys where I left you.

So. Here I am! (smiles weakly) I really hope you guys understand where I'm coming from. I'm serious about writing, more serious about it than anything else. That's why I'm taking the time to work on my own stuff. Please forgive me, I'm back into fanfiction and I'm going to be updating this story more often—probably not an every week sort of thing, but I want to finish it. It bugs me just sitting on here with all its loose ends. So, I apologize from the bottom of my heart, really, sincerely, and I hope you accept it and enjoy chapter four with all the kinks worked out! I love you guys, thanks for having the patience to deal with me and read my stuff!

**Disclaimer:** If I had a nickel for ever ounce of love in my heart for Harry Potter, I just might be as rich as the woman who DOES own the boy. But alas, love does not count as money in this world…damn it.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Trial**

Another spotlight clicked on, and directly in front of them they could see the outline of a long judge's bench. Three tall figures in long robes entered the room from the left and right, and a final figure entered from the center. All walked silently to their seats in an orderly fashion, stomping their feet in sync as they turned to face the defendants. As Claire thought back on the experience later, it would have been a lot less intimidating if she could have seen more than just their silhouettes.

The seven Councilmen stood stock-still for what felt like hours, but finally pulled out their chairs and sat down in a perfectly synchronized fashion.

"Be seated!" said the plump court attendant.

Claire, Robin, and Aquinas did as they were instructed and waited. Finally, the figure seated in the center chair spoke.

"This is case number five hundred seventy-one," read the booming, male voice. "Will the defendants please rise and state first, middle, and last names for the Court?"

Claire and Robin stood again, Claire's legs feeling oddly like jelly as she spoke.

"Claire Marie Woods," she croaked.

"Robin Beatrice Gregory," her friend replied, slightly stronger.

"Very well," said the same voice. "The clerk will take down these names and read the list of offenses for the Court."

The plump man rose again from his seat in front of the bench. He cleared his throat and pulled a long scroll from his pocket, which dropped to the floor as it unrolled. Claire felt her stomach churn unpleasantly.

"Woods and Gregory," he said, "are charged with the following offenses: making direct contact with main characters in the book _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_; changing events that took place in _Harry Potter in the Prisoner of Azkaban_, ultimately leading to changes in the books _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_ and _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix; _changing the romantic interest in a main character in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_—"

"Oh, I _do_ hate that one!" said a different voice from the judge's bench.

"I agree," said someone else, sounding somewhat grim. "But then again, I'm not one for love." He sighed. "Oh, my Annabelle!"

"Oh, give it a rest, Eddie!" said another, sounding more cunning than the first. "I've been listening to you moan about that stupid girl for the last one hundred and fifty years! Besides, she was thirteen years old _and _you were related! That's a little _perverted,_ my friend—"

"And _you_ are really one to talk, dear Geoff?" said the first voice, sounding offended by the man seated down the bench from him.

"Oh, come now, everyone loves a little _scandal_—if you know what I mean—"

"The Council will remain in order while the clerk is reading the list of offenses!" shouted the man in the middle, sounding irate.

Claire chanced a glance at Robin, who was staring up at the judge's bench, wondering if this was some sort of a joke. Leaning around Robin, Claire saw Aquinas slap his palm to his forehead as if embarrassed. She grinned. She could hardly see this theatre troupe sending them off to the chopping block. She hadn't wanted to believe it, but maybe they _did_ have a chance after all…

The clerk cleared his throat and continued, "As I was saying…oh dear, now I've lost my place…Good gracious!" He began skimming hurriedly through the long scroll in his hands.

"Please get on with it, Gustov," said the Head Judge once again.

"Yes, oh Honorable One!" said Gustov, finding his place at last at the bottom of the long list. "—causing the death of a character in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_; and finally, for changing the factional world by causing the discontinuation of the _Harry Potter_ series."

All was silent in the court room. Claire swallowed.

"Lights, please," said the Head Judge.

Two spotlights ahead illuminated the judge's bench, and Claire tumbled over her chair in shock.

"_Claire,_ you look like a fool!" Robin hissed, grabbing her arms and wrenching her to her feet. "Stand up!"

"But—oh my God!" Claire said in a shaky voice. "It's like the living dead!"

Everyone seated on the high bench could be recognized from some English text book the girls had seen over their educational career. But…no, surely she was dreaming now…

But she couldn't be! The name plates clearly read from left to right—John Milton, William Shakespeare, Jacob Grimm, Mark Twain, Wilhelm Grimm, Geoffrey Chaucer, and Edgar Allan Poe.

The man in the middle, Twain, shook his head and said to the defendants, "Never, in all my years on the High Court, have I seen such offenses as these to the world of fiction. Never."

The man second from the girls' right, Chaucer, made a rude noise and laughed.

Twain furrowed his bushy brows and said, "Yes, Geoff? Would _you _like to make an _intelligent _comment?"

"Of course not, that would be silly!" said Chaucer. "I was merely laughing at you, Sammy boy! 'All my years on the High Council…' Please! I've been here nearly 400 years longer than you have and you don't hear me gloating about it for dramatic effect!"

"Me thinks thou doth protest too much," commented the man sitting second from their left, Shakespeare.

"Cork it, Shakes," said Chaucer.

"That's really quite enough!" said Twain, banging his gavel in attempts to bring some sort of order.

"This is all very much rather depressing," said Poe with a sigh. "Oh sweet angel known as death, come and rip me from my seat and take me off to sweet salvation!"

"Oh, Eddie, don't be so morose!" said Chaucer, ruffling Poe's hair and patting him on the back. "Lighten up! Honestly it's like you're stuck inside those grotesque romances of yours! You should take a leaf out of _my_ book and just put it behind you. I mean, c'mon, I'm not about to start speaking in rhyme—"

"You know, all of this does remind me of the time, on the Big River, when the tide was rising along with the panic on board my steamboat—" said Twain thoughtfully. "I say! Have I ever told you what she was called? Beautiful name—"

"YES!" shouted everyone on the bench rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

"These trips down memory lane are far too _cheerful_ for me," said Poe with a sigh.

"Hear hear, good man," said Jacob Grimm.

"I agree," said his brother, Wilhelm. "All happy tales should end in a bit of peril or death! I say, it adds for a bit of dramatic effect—"

"I couldn't agree more, my dear brother," said Jacob.

They all continued to talk and banter and argue until a sharp whistle rang throughout the room. Claire and Robin turned to see a livid Aquinas on his feet, trying to get the High Council's attention.

"I hate to break up this ever-loving circus act here," Aquinas said, stepping into the spotlight to speak. "But may I remind all the _mature adults_ present that we are here for a _trial,_ not a high school reunion! Let's move on, shall we?"

Every eye of the Council was glaring in Aquinas's direction, who bravely folded his arms and stood his ground.

"You are in enough trouble as it is, Mr. Smith," said the man on their far left, Milton. "I suggest you be seated and let us proceed with the trial before we deal with you."

Aquinas raised his hands in mock defeat and returned to his chair. Claire was starting to feel nauseous from all the excitement.

Milton stood and said, "I, for one, agree with Samuel. I have never seen such a list of offenses."

Claire blinked and turned to Robin.

"Who's Samuel?" she asked.

Robin rolled her eyes and said, "I guess you don't pay attention in _school_, either. Twain was a penname—his real name was Samuel Clemens."

"Oh…right," Claire said, turning back to the judges.

"The Council will now proceed to question the defendants, _one at a time_," Twain said, resuming some air of order. "William? Do you have anything to add thus far?"

Shakespeare merely blinked and said, "I will speak daggers to her, but use none."

Twain looked confused. Chaucer snorted behind his hand. Poe perked up at the word "daggers."

"Well, that's—er—good, William. Very good…" He coughed once. "That being said, I will pose the first question."

"Why do _you_ always get to go first!" said Jacob Grimm

"Yes yes, I agree, you _do_ always have to be in the lime light," said Wilhelm Grimm.

"Lime…I say, that reminds me of a time, back in the days when I was merely a school boy in good ol' St. Louie—" Twain reminisced.

"ENOUGH!" shouted Milton, banging his gavel as well. "This is ridiculous! _I_ will pose the first question."

"I think he has some hidden anger issues," Poe muttered to Chaucer.

"Yeah, tone it down a little, Johnny boy," said Chaucer.

Milton shot them a nasty look and replied, "If you think I can't take all your little comments after all the nonsense about my work being 'devil worship,' then let me assure you, you've thought wrong. Now, for goodness sake, _shut up._"

He turned to the girls and proceeded with a lecture while Chaucer stuck out his tongue and Poe snuck a long drink from something in a flask under the bench.

"I am familiar with your case, Woods and Gregory," said Milton, "and I can scarcely believe that two of _our_ so highly-esteemed Bestowers would grant such a pair of _irresponsible_ girls such a Gift as the one granted each of you two years ago. The Harry Potter books were enjoyed by all, but now they remain merely a pleasant memory of those who were inside the story at the time of its destruction. I must say, when we all heard the news, we seriously considered closing down the program altogether."

Claire, though cut down by his harsh words, was enlightened by the comical air of the trial up to this point. She boldly stepped forward and asked permission to speak.

"On what grounds!" Milton said angrily.

"Please," Claire said. "I'm afraid I don't really understand how—how this all works. Why is it we can remember and no one else can? How can we remember that there were two other Harry Potter books besides the three that came before J.K. Rowling stopped writing?" She paused before she added, "Sirs?"

All looked at one another before Twain spoke.

"All who had been given the Gift to visit the world of Harry Potter were, shall we say, _witnesses_ as you proceeded along the road of sure destruction," he said. "Though they may not have been present at the time that the books were officially ruined, all could see the effects you two were having on the plot. They, alone, maintained the memories of reading the fourth and fifth Harry Potter books."

"So, you're saying because they were inside the story—like we were—they can remember, too?" Claire asked.

"Precisely," answered Twain. "Now I must ask that you refrain from all questioning until we have finished—"

"Just a couple more," Claire continued. "If it's not too—er—rude of me to ask, how can you be here? I mean…aren't you all—er…"

"Dead?" Chaucer finished lightly.

"Well—yeah!" Claire said.

"Oh, how I wish!" Poe said with a dry sob.

"Oh, no, my dear girl," Twain said with a wave of his hand. "Great literature never truly dies, you see. It lives on because people will read it until the end of time! Therefore, we are given the power to continue living here at the Headquarters, helping young ones like yourselves to grow up loving the world of fiction through the chance to visit the worlds you love. We, that is to say the seven of us, are members of the High Council because we were deemed the" —He puffed out his chest proudly— "_best_ writers in all of fiction history."

Robin tilted her head and asked, "How come there aren't any women on the Council?"

The seven Members exchanged uncomfortable looks.

"Well, many have been trying to gain a seat for years," Milton answered, "but it will take a few more fans to allow them to serve on the Council. For example, a certain Dr. Tolkien has been on our backs for _years_ over the matter—"

"Really?" Robin asked, looking excited. "Is he here somewhere? Gosh, I'd love to meet—"

"Wait—so you allow people to go into other stories besides just Harry Potter?" Claire interrupted. The concept had never even occurred to her before. "Like what?"

"Oh, the most popular or more modern fantasy tales," Twain said, enjoying this little interview far too much. "_The Lord of the Rings_ is still a very common choice, and we've recently approved Gifts for the stories _Artemis Fowl_, _A Series of Unfortunate Events—"_

"I most enjoy those stories," said Poe, looking happy for the first time. "They're so full of…misfortune!"

"Yes yes, we _know,_ Edgar, now please! I was talking!" said Twain, continuing on. "Let's see, where was I…oh yes, and our next considered approval is going to be _The Bartimaeus Trilogy_ along with—"

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to interrupt you, Samuel," said Milton, looking irritated. "May I remind you that _we_ are supposed to be questioning the _defendants_, not the other way around?"

Claire stepped back to her place as Poe spoke up.

"May I ask the name of the character you so ruthlessly murdered?" he asked.

Robin took this one, stepping forward and saying, "Remus Lupin—but we didn't murder him, per say. We caused his death by being present in the Time-Turner sequence."

"Do you think I am easier to be played than a pipe!" Shakespeare said, slamming his fist onto the wood.

"Yes, I must agree with Billy here…I think," Chaucer said plainly. "In other words, you killed him. And he was not supposed to die, correct? He hasn't been killed by the author, has he?"

"No, he hasn't," said Wilhelm Grimm. "Unless his death was to be in the final novel, then no, he should be alive and well inside the story."

"To be alive is to be unwell!" said Poe, who was beating the tips of his fingers with his gavel. "This is all to much for me! The destruction of fantasy! Good heavens, could I use a drink—"

"Will someone do us all a favor and just stab this party animal over here?" Chaucer demanded. "Grimms, that's your area of expertise. Get one of your silly talking wolves to come gobble him up."

The Brothers Grimm looked offended, but were silenced by Milton, who sent them all a glare across the bench.

"So, Remus Lupin was killed because you were present in the story and the final two novels have disappeared from existence," Milton said, ticking the offenses off on his fingers. "There are still quite a few more offenses that need to be accounted for." He picked up a piece of paper and lifted a monocle to his eye, reading, "_Changing the romantic interest in a main character_. Which one of you is responsible for this atrocity?"

Claire felt the heat rising in her neck as she stood, trying to keep herself steady. She could feel Aquinas's harsh stare from across the room.

"I did," Claire said.

Chaucer began to applaud her.

"Way to spice things up a little!" he commended. "Surely you got the idea from my very own Wife of Bath? It sounds like her sort of sport—"

"The course of true love never did run smooth," Shakespeare commented.

This appeared to be the final straw for Poe, who burst into tears.

"Oh, cruel world! How could you smile upon these characters so unkindly?" he sobbed into his arms. "Why must they suffer the trials of love as I have! Why? Why? Why—"

Chaucer popped him over the head with his gavel.

"It is no wonder the author decided to discontinue the story," said Jacob Grimm, reading through his papers as Milton marched down the bench and began to wrestle the gavel from Chaucer's hands. "Romance often has a larger role to play as stories progress. With that ruined, I say, how could she continue down her story board? I don't believe I could have if someone got between Cinderella and her prince, for example…"

"—or Snow White and _her _prince—" said his brother.

"—or Sleeping Beauty and _her—_"

"MOVE ALONG!" Twain shouted. "You're moving slower than Huck on his raft, and it was nothing but a few twigs strung together with a bit of twine!...Say, did I ever tell you—?"

"Yes!" the Grimms said together.

Twain sat back, looking disheartened.

"Still," said Wilhelm Grimm, smiling ruefully as he read through his own notes ("Where am I…?" said Poe dreamily, watching Chaucer and Milton continue to wrestle for the gavel), "not many people can say they received their first kiss from Harry Potter!"

Claire covered her burning face with her hands. Aquinas chuckled, enjoying her torture. Robin wore an expression of one who had something unpleasant shoved under her nose.

"To hell with you!" Milton exclaimed, giving up his battle with Chaucer and stomping back to his seat.

"Well you would know all about _that_, now wouldn't you, Milty?" Chaucer spat, adjusting his clothes.

"I FIND IT UNECESSARY," Milton shouted over him, "to continue on! We are all familiar with this case, we know the offenses back to front, and I think it is safe to say we can make a well-formed decision as to what should come from this—"

"Wait!" Claire said, panicking at this sudden demand for a verdict. "Please—don't we get a chance to defend ourselves?"

"What's to defend?" Chaucer asked, patting his gavel lovingly. "You went into a story, destroyed it, and made no means to repair it. It's an open and shut case, if you'll pardon the pun."

"That's not true!" Robin chimed in, jumping up beside Claire. "Claire _has_ made an effort—she's got it all worked out! Show them, Claire."

Claire thrust the notebook up in the air, hand shaking slightly. The judges stared at her blankly.

"You think we are impressed by this paper bound together by a thin strip of metal?" Twain said, adjusting the bifocals on his nose as his moustache twitched in irritation. "_Yes,_ they were after our time, but we're not _that_ far behind on things, young lady—"

Claire and Robin rolled their eyes.

"It's not the notebook itself you should be happy to see," Claire explained, thrusting the notebook at the Tweedle Dee clerk. "It's what's _inside_ I think will interest you."

The clerk took the notebook, looked at it uncertainly, and then tossed it up to the judge's bench where Twain snatched it out of the air. His six fellows all gathered around him, reading over his shoulder as he flipped through its contents. All was silent for several minutes. Claire was too worried to summon hope, so she summoned her remaining courage instead.

"As you can see," Claire said, voice still shaking a little as she placed her hands on her hips, "I've spent the last two years going through the books. I know them even more completely than I knew them before. I know every, _single_ detail that needs to be changed in order to restore the books back to their full glory."

"Surely, that's impossible."

It wasn't one of the judges that made this skeptical remark, but Aquinas from his chair off to the side.

"Actually, it's quite possible," Claire replied. She turned back to the bench. "All I need—"

"All _we_ need," Robin corrected.

"Yes," Claire agreed. "All we need is a chance."

Twain removed his glasses and looked at the other six judges. A few shrugged. A couple sighed. Poe looked at them through crossed eyes. Claire held her breath…

"This is all well and good," Twain said at last, "however, I find that you two are untrustworthy. You can't go back into the books."

"Please," Claire said, "you don't understand. I promised—" Her voice cracked with suppressed emotions. "I promised I'd fix it."

"Oh, pish posh!" said Wilhelm Grimm defiantly. "Just because you promised you're little fictional boyfriend you'd return does not mean we are going to up and change our minds!"

"I'm not talking about Harry," Claire said, shaking off the insult. "I'm taking about Paulette Griggs, my great-grandmother."

The faces of all seven Councilmen lightened considerably, all turned to each other and collectively released a different sort of sigh.

"Dearest Paulette," said Twain. "I do remember her quite well—always willing to listen to my tales of the River and boyhood! Such a kind heart she had."

"Great sense of humor," said Chaucer, sounding serious for the first time all day.

"Fit to be a queen!" agreed the brothers.

"All that glistens is not gold," said Shakespeare with a smile.

"It was the last thing I ever said to her," Claire said, feeling suddenly desperate. "Please, don't make me break this promise."

A moment of silence. Then—

"We will need a moment to confer," said Twain.

The judges moved together in a tight circle, murmuring quietly. Occasionally, Claire caught a snatch of their conversation. "What could possibly…" or "..too irresponsible…" and "That one will be on _your_ head, not mine…"

At last they turned to face the girls.

"We have reached our verdict," Twain said. "William?"

Shakespeare stood up, adjusted the ruffled collar underneath his judge's robes, and said, "Fair is foul, and foul is fair!"

Everyone stared.

Twain cleared his throat and said, "John, will you elaborate for the Court?"

Milton rolled his eyes, but obeyed nonetheless.

"You, however irresponsible you have proved yourselves in the past," Milton said, shooting daggers down the bench, "will be allowed a final—that means _one—_chance to repair past errors."

Claire and Robin leapt to their feet and cheered, hugging each other in celebration. They'd done it…!

"HOWEVER," Milton said loudly over their shouts of glee, "there will be certain conditions you must abide to, and the moment something goes wrong, you will be removed from the stories—for good."

"Understood," Claire said, smiling with triumph.

"Very well," Twain said. "We shall meet again tomorrow to agree upon the terms. Now, that is settled, and the two of you must read the latest installment before the clock chimes midnight, seeing as that is when the time limit will be up."

"I'm sorry," Robin asked. "Latest installment?"

"Of the series of course!" Twain said. He held up two thick books with green covers. Claire's heart skipped a beat. Could they really be what she thought they were? Was such a miracle even _possible_…?

"They would have come out today, July the sixteenth, if you two had not made a mess of things," Twain explained.

"So that's why we had to get here today?" Claire concluded.

"Yes," Twain answered.

Claire and Robin looked at each other with wide eyes, neither one willing to believe such a wish could come true.

"But—how did you guys have a copy of them if they were never even _written!_" Robin asked. "The story was discontinued!"

"That is a secret of the SMOG headquarters, and one that is not for you to know," Milton said seriously, clearly still upset about the Council's decision.

Claire thought she was about to burst with happiness, a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time. Never, in her wildest dreams, did she think she would get to see another Harry Potter book. And yet, there it was, just barely out of her reach…

"Now, Mr. Smith here," he gestured to Aquinas, who stood, "will take you to the Reading Wing before he is to stand trial himself."

"Aquinas is having a separate trial?" Claire asked, smile slipping slightly.

"As an Observer, Mr. Smith should have conducted himself in a more commanding and responsible manner," Jacob Grimm explained, "and there are certain other rules he should have followed. Seeing as this is not the first time Mr. Smith has been in trouble, we see it fit that he be tried separately."

"Take the girls off, Smith," Twain said sternly. "They've only got about nine hours remaining to finish the story."

"Yes sir," Aquinas said sadly, rising to his feet. "C'mon you two, let's go—"

"Wait," Claire said, turning back to the judge's bench. "Listen, Aquinas had nothing to do with any of this—"

"Claire—" Aquinas began.

"It was all my fault, Robin had nothing to do with it either but Aquinas was always trying to talk me out of it—"

"_Claire—"_ Aquinas hissed.

"Please, I'm not going back in without him—can't he be tried the same as us?"

"Come _on!_"

He grabbed her by her collar and dragged her out through another door.

"Sheesh, you never know when to shut up, do you?" Aquinas said. "Don't you know I could loose my license over this?"

Claire fell into step beside Robin, feeling light-headed from all that had just happened.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I _mean,_ I might never be allowed to go into a story, _ever_ again," he answered, "or work here at all for that matter."

Claire felt a tidal wave of guilt consume her. She stopped walking and stared at her old friend.

"Aquinas, I—I didn't—"

"Of course you didn't," he said scathingly, grabbing her arm to pull her along their way. "You never do. All I know is this place is all I have, and you've done enough damage. Just let me deal with it myself."

The rest of their journey was a silent one, all the way up several flights of stairs to a completely white hallway with a few welcoming lights twinkling beside doors with large silver numbers. The entire time Claire was torn between remorse for what she had caused and excessive amounts of excitement over the book in her hands.

"Room four for you, Robin," he said, directing her through a door to their left, "and room three for you."

Robin didn't need telling twice. The door of room four was slamming in Claire's face before she had time to blink, and Claire distinctly hear a whoop of excitement as the lock clicked in the door jam.

Claire turned to Aquinas, hugging the book in her arms like a long-lost friend. Now that the book she never thought she'd see was enveloped safely in her embrace, she felt overwhelmingly relieved. They had a chance now, and more importantly, they had hope again.

"So," she said, attempting to lighten the mood, "is this the room where 'troublemakers' go?"

Aquinas did not return her smile. He narrowed his eyes and looked away. Claire felt her heart sink a few more notches. They had always bickered, her and Aquinas, but he had never been so upset that he would not meet her eye. She'd really done it this time.

"You only have a few hours left to finish that," he said monotonously. "I suggest you get in there and start it."

Claire frowned.

"Aquinas," she said, "I'm not lying. I really didn't know. If I did, I would have been here in a heartbeat."

He said nothing, but Claire ceased to care; she was fighting a losing battle with the boy and the book was calling to her. She looked at the title: _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince._ She couldn't wait to find out what it meant, what it was all about…

"I'll be out here when you're done," he said.

As Aquinas seated himself on the floor, Claire turned the knob to enter room number three and shut the door smartly behind her.

It was the perfect room for reading. Soft lights hung on the walls and a fire was crackling merely in the grate. The entire floor was made of a floaty, almost liquid-feeling material. As Claire flopped down upon it, it seemed to mold to the shape of her body. Claire could scarcely remember ever being so comfortable.

At last, Claire turned to the book sitting beside her. Suddenly, every problem, every worry that had formulated in her mind since her return from Hogwarts seemed to fade away. Today, at this moment, Claire was just another kid reading another Harry Potter book. She was normal again.

A smile like none she had smiled in two long years spread across her face as she opened to the first page.

_It was nearly midnight and the Prime Minister was sitting alone in his office, reading a long memo that was slipping through his brain without leaving the slightest trace of meaning behind…

* * *

_

"No…It can't be…No!"

Her heart was pounding in her chest like the sounds of a mighty battle drum. She knew what was coming—could see it coming a hundred pages back—but that did not increase her capability to accept it.

And then it came, the unimaginable—

"_Snape!"_ she gasped, her eyes wildly darting across the page. "No, he can't have! He—he can't be!"

Oh, but he was…

* * *

A bell chimed somewhere. Three sharp raps sounded on the door.

"Time's up, Claire!"

The door swung open. Light from the hall flooded the room. Claire looked at the intruder through a curtain of disheveled dark hair, clutching the book to her chest.

"Please tell me you finished?" Aquinas said, looking anxious.

"Don't worry, Aquinas," said another voice, Robin's. "She did."

"And how do _you_ know that?" Aquinas hissed over his shoulder. "You haven't been in here! For all we know she could have just sat here hugging it the whole time. I wouldn't put it passed her—"

Claire looked up at Robin, whose eyes looked as bloodshot and face as tear-stained as her own.

"If she hadn't finished, she wouldn't look like shit," Robin explained.

"Gee," Claire sniffed. "Thanks."

The sniff turned into a lung-racking sob, tears cascading down her cheeks. Their mission now seemed suddenly impossible. How was she, Claire, supposed to rearrange the story into this disaster? How could she do this to them—to Harry? How had two years of worrying led to this…?

It just wasn't fair.

* * *

**a/n:** DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAAaaa! So. Will Claire be able to pull herself together? What kind of rules are going to be set for them to go back into the story? Was Aquinas punished? You'll find out in chapter five, coming your way soon.

**Second Disclaimer:** I do not own any works/lines used in this chapter by the following: John Milton, William Shakespeare, Mark Twain, The Brothers Grimm, Geoffrey Chaucer, or Edgar Allan Poe. I just didn't want to put this up top because…well then you'd know what was coming, silly! If you haven't studied these guys yet, then no doubt this chapter wasn't as amusing as I intended it to be. I apologize if that's the case.

And for the record, I'm madly in love with all the works of Shakespeare, Poe, Milton, Chaucer, and Grimms. I hate Twain with a bloody freaking passion. Just a personal note there.

Hope to see you all in chapter 5! If you want me to email you when it's posted, let me know via review or email.


	5. Laying Down the Law

**a/n:** Hello there, dear readers! First of all, I want to thank all of you who so willingly accepted my apology for leaving fanfiction for such a long time. I am back in the swing of things now, having found a balance between writing this story and my original work. Also, thanks to everyone who wished me luck in my attempt at writing my own story. I've been working on this particular one for almost four years, and it seems to be coming together quite nicely. Who knows? Maybe one day I'll publish more than just fanfiction.

One more thing before we all jump into chapter five (I meant to put this in the last chapter but I was too busy apologizing all over myself!): I took a long-awaited trip to Ireland and England back in June, and I just wanted to tell my readers from there that you have _beautiful_ countries. I'd been saving for that trip for a year and half and it was so satisfying to finally go! I had the time of my life and can't wait to go back! (I actually never would have left if my friends hadn't dragged me onto the plane kicking and screaming.) That was a random comment about my life that has absolutely nothing to do with the story. Sorry!

And now, without further ado, please head on into chapter five!

**Disclaimer(s):** I do not own Harry Potter. Every time I type that sentence, I die a little inside. V.V Oh, I also don't own any of the works by Milton, Chaucer, Twain, Shakespeare, Poe, or the Grimms…still. Poo.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Laying Down the Law**

Calming down after such a tragic ending was not an easy task. Aquinas lead Claire and Robin down three flights of stairs to a place called "The Pep-up Room." Each girl was lead away to a quiet spot by a different nurse. Claire's attendant forced her to chug down three glasses of water ("You're going to dehydrate if you keep crying that way!") and to sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" five times. Halfway through her third chorus, Claire watched as Robin washed her face in a large sink in the middle of the room, and saw that her cheeks were still very wet even after she had dried it with a large, fluffy towel.

"How I w-w-wonder wh-wh-what you—you are…"

"Again!" conducted her attendant with a large, toothy smile.

Eventually, they reached a point where there were no more tears to cry, just very scratchy throats and soar eyes to attend to.

"Can you believe it?" Claire asked Robin when they were finally allowed to speak to one another.

"I know," Robin said, reapplying her eyeliner in a mirror in the far corner. She blinked a few times as she screwed the lid back on her make-up. "Dumbledore."

"And that wasn't even the _worst_ of it!" Claire said, feeling another wave of sadness sweep over her. "They aren't going back to school!"

Robin sat down on a squishy beanbag opposite Claire, her chin in her hands, looking a cross between depressed and disappointed.

"That means no more Quidditch," she thought allowed.

"And no more funny classes," Claire added, "or sneaking out of the dormitories at night, or getting caught by Filch, or visiting Hagrid—"

"Stop it!" Robin exclaimed, covering her ears with her hands. "I can't hear you! La la la la la….!"

"Wasn't it the _best_ though," Claire said dreamily, changing the subject, "how Ron comforted Hermione at the funeral? I thought I was going to die!"

Robin shrugged, "Yeah it was cute, but you were always way more into that mushy stuff than I ever—oh my God."

She suddenly started to laugh uncontrollably. Claire stared, confused.

"I don't get you," Claire announced.

"No, it's just—it's just…" Robin was gasping for breath, clutching her sides. "I just remembered!"

She began another fit of random laughter. Claire was starting to get annoyed.

"What!" she demanded.

Robin finally managed to get her tongue around the words.

"Ginny is going to _kill_ you!"

Claire felt her stomach drop to her feet as she gasped.

"Oh God, I didn't even _think _of…Robin, what am I going to _do?_"

"Hey, you're on your own there, honey," Robin said, finally regaining her composure. She stood up and began running a brush through her tangled hair. It was starting to get curly again from going far too long without seeing a hair-straightener. "By the way, is all this Horcrux stuff going to screw with your plan?"

Claire tried to think. For the passed few hours, she had almost completely forgotten that they were supposed to be going back into the story. She supposed that was just a mark of how fantastic the book really was, that it could make her completely lose track of her greatest worries and fears.

"I don't know," she finally answered. "I thought all of it was completely amazing, though."

"So did I, especially the parts when Voldemort was little. Man, it all tied together so _perfectly!_" Robin agreed, staring at her hair with disapproval in the mirror. "But, you know, our opinions on the plot aren't going to help us much once we get back in there. We need to refigure some things."

"Do you think Snape is really evil?" Claire asked, fingering her own brush thoughtfully.

"I have absolutely no idea," Robin said, tossing her brush back into the basket of toiletries they had received from the nurses to tidy themselves up before heading back downstairs. "From what we saw when we were in the story, I'd say yes. From what she wrote in this book, though, she left it quite open-ended." She sighed, setting the basket down on the floor and sitting beside it. "You know we probably saw more than we were supposed to—back then, in the Shrieking Shack."

"No doubt about it," Claire agreed. "That means we need to be extra careful, now that we know what he's capable of."

Robin stared solemnly into space. Claire had never seen her so emotional before. It sort of scared her.

"I can't believe he's really gone," she said quietly.

Claire felt fresh, hot tears forming in her eyes as she thought about it. Albus Dumbledore, the invincible, the only one the evil Lord Voldemort ever feared…how could he possibly be dead at the hands of someone as overlooked as Severus Snape? It was an ingenious twist that neither of them saw coming.

Robin shook her head quickly, black extensions flying all about her as she stood up.

"Well, we have a lot of work to do, and we have to meet back with the High Council later on tonight," she said. "Come on, Claire, shake it off. You need to get yourself cleaned up before we go down there. I'll ask the nurses if they have a hose we can use…"

* * *

"Do you think this will work?" 

Claire chewed her eraser tip, thinking. The pair sat at a small table in one of the many lounges, hunched over Claire's notebook, going over their final plan and how they were going to present it to the Council in a few minutes.

"Oh, it can definitely work," Claire answered. "It's just a matter of getting the judges to let us try it, and, of course, not getting ourselves killed."

"Right," Robin said, sitting back and stretching her arms out wide behind her. "I wonder what happened to—oh, hi, Aquinas. Where have you been?"

Looking over to the door, Claire saw Aquinas march in, looking just as angry as he had when they had arrived at the Headquarters.

"What's up?" she asked him.

"Oh nothing, just busy having my license revoked, that's all," Aquinas spat, crossing his arms and tapping his foot moodily. "Other than that, I'm just peachy!"

"Did they really take your license away?" Claire asked.

"No," Aquinas admitted, "but it's only a matter of time, thanks to you."

"Well, if they stick to their original verdict, they can't take your license away," Claire told him, gathering up all of her scrap papers from the table. "We're going to need you if we're going to fix things."

"And what makes you think I _want_ to be involved in this?" Aquinas snapped. A moment later, he added, "Again?"

Claire smirked.

"Because you secretly love all this drama," she replied, "or you wouldn't have been in trouble _before_ you ever met us."

He had no reply to that except to stomp angrily across the room to the coffee machine, spilling milk and sugar everywhere while muttering furiously under his breath.

"Yeah, what did you do anyway, Quin?" Robin asked, joining in. "What sort of trouble have you been in with the Council before all this?"

"That's none of your business!" he said, voice cracking with irritation.

The girls smiled at each other and left it at that, not wanting to tick him off any worse.

"Are you going to come with us or not?" Claire said, standing up and pushing in her chair. "We're supposed to be down in the chambers in ten minutes"

Aquinas stirred his coffee fitfully, spraying a couple of old men sitting at a table nearby. The one closest to him inspected the specs of espresso on his glasses, confused as to how they got there.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." He chugged down the contents of his mug and slammed it down on the counter, leading the way into the lobby.

A few minutes later, Claire and Robin were standing once again before the judge's bench, Aquinas sitting in his chair off to the side, sulking and mumbling to himself while unconsciously messing with his hair.

Twain fumbled around with his bifocals before calling the silent chamber to order.

"Woods, Gregory," he addressed them, "you are here to receive the rules and regulations for your final trip into the story. Yes, yes, what is it?"

Claire had stepped forward to speak.

"We sort of already had a plan to fix everything," she explained, "and if it's okay we'd like to show you what we've come up with. That way, we can work together to figure the best solution for solving things."

"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't," Shakespeare said.

"I agree, she's up to something fishy," Chaucer commented. Claire noticed he had no gavel this time and Milton kept throwing reproachful glances down the bench. Beside Chaucer, Poe had a large ice bag taped around his head and looked a little on the tipsy side. He wasn't nearly as talkative this time around.

"Well, I wasn't done explaining yet!" Twain said, irritated. "It's just like when I'm telling a great tale of my boyhood, everyone quits listening before the end!"

"Just like your books, too, I'm afraid," muttered Chaucer.

"What did you say?" Twain demanded, looking abashed.

"Oh, nothing, Sammy boy," Chaucer said with cheerful grin.

"Indeed!" Twain said, collecting himself. "Now, as I was saying, you will only be allowed _one_ trip into _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._"

"But after that we can go into the last two books?" Claire asked.

"Assuming you can salvage them, yes," Milton said, "lest you don't screw anything else up in the mean time."

"Point taken," Claire agreed.

"Now," Twain said. "For your journey back into the third book, you will only be allowed to go back to the last day you were located in."

"In other words, the day of all the Time-Turner stuff?" Robin asked.

"Precisely," said Jacob Grimm.

"So, you're not trying to make this easy for us, are you?" Robin added.

"You are the ones who made it difficult on yourselves," Milton scolded. "We had nothing to do with it."

"Yeah, true," Robin said, defeated.

"The rules for this journey will be read by the court attendant," announced Twain. "Gustov? Gustov!"

There was a loud snore as the startled, Tweedle Dee attendant jumped to his feet.

"Yes, yes the rules, the rules!" Gustov said, unrolling yet another large scroll. "Rule number one: Woods and Gregory may not enter any other part of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ other than those of the Time-Turner sequence."

"No problem!" Claire muttered to Robin, feeling excited.

"Rule number two: Woods and Gregory may not come into contact with any of the main characters in _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._"

"What?" both girls exclaimed.

"But how are we supposed to fix anything if we can't even get _near_ the Shrieking Shack?" Claire demanded. "There're people all over the grounds that night! We're not going to be able to do anything!"

"Order! Order!" Twain barked, banging his gavel down.

"I miss my gavel," Poe said sadly, speaking for the first time all afternoon. "It was the closest thing they'd allow me to a weapon."

"Me too, Eddie. Me, too," Chaucer agreed, glaring down the bench at Milton, who had all three of their gavels tucked safely in his arms.

"Continue, Gustov," Twain ordered.

"Yes, O Great One!" Gustov obliged. "Rule number three: Woods and Gregory may not come into contact with the Woods and Gregory characters already inside _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._"

Claire swore. This was going to be impossible! With each new rule, her plan was getting torn to shreds. How were they supposed to fix this if the only two things they were allowed to do were go into the story and breathe?

"And finally, rule number four: Woods and Gregory must return to the Headquarters precisely one hour and thirty minutes after they enter _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban._"

"That part of the story goes on for nearly four chapters!" Robin exclaimed. "That's _way_ longer than an hour and a half!"

"If you fail to abide by these rules, you will be brought out of the story," Milton concluded.

"But this is unfair!" Claire said, unable to think of any other way to describe it.

"To mourn a mischief that is past and gone is the next way to draw new mischief on," said Shakespeare, shaking his head.

"Very true, Will," said Wilhelm Grimm. "The whole point of these rules is to prevent you from repeating your past mistakes, which you must admit you have a habit of doing."

Both girls gaped open-mouthed at the bench, feeling trapped and overwhelmed. There was nothing they could do; the decision was final.

"What about Aquinas?" Claire said when her voice returned.

"For the love of Pete, _shut up!_" he hissed from across the room.

"What about him?" Milton asked.

"I want him to come with us," Claire said plainly.

"Absolutely not," said Jacob Grimm. "He's on probation. The Observing department will not allow him to go into a story."

"Tsk tsk!" Chaucer mocked, wagging a finger in Aquinas's direction. "Should have behaved yourself, m'boy!"

"You are _absolutely_ the last person I'd want to wag a finger at me, Geoff," Milton said scathingly.

"Ditto, Milty," Chaucer said.

Claire crossed her arms defiantly. With all these ridiculous rules, they were going to need all the help they could get. She wasn't going to take no for an answer.

"Aquinas hates us," she said bluntly. "Sending him back into the story would be the best way to punish him."

The Judges stared at each other, having no comeback to such an obvious solution.

"Though this be madness, yet there is method in't," Shakespeare said to his fellow Justices.

"No!" Aquinas said, squirming in his seat. "I beg of you, I'll do anything! Sort mail, answer phones, clean the bedpans—_anything!_"

"We'll need a moment to confer," Twain said for the second time. The Judges gathered around, discussing animatedly the best way to deal with their troublesome Observer. Finally, after much whispering and another desperate attempt to retrieve lost gavels, they reached an agreement.

"William—Sorry, I mean _Wilhelm_, that's what I said!" Twain declared. "Wilhelm, the verdict please?"

"Aquinas Smith, you will be allowed to accompany the girls into _Prisoner of Azkaban_, and we will judge by the way you handle yourself in this task whether you will be allowed to continue helping them, provided they salvage the remaining two books."

Aquinas looked as if he were about to cry.

"This court is adjourned," Twain announced, banging his gavel a final time. Poe stared at it, licking his lips. "Woods and Gregory will leave for the story in one hour's time. Report to the Bestowing Chamber at six o'clock, sharp!"

Claire and Robin left the courtroom together, Aquinas trailing slowly behind.

"Have you ever seen 'Mission Impossible'?" Claire asked them as they walked down the stone hallway toward the lobby.

"I think I'm about to," Robin said. She put on a face and mocked the Grimm brother, saying, "_We don't want you to repeat past mistakes._ Honestly, they made up half those rules because they _want _us to fail!"

Claire nodded, having had the same thought back in the courtroom.

"Claire," Robin said anxiously, playing with one of her bracelets, "how are we going to make this work?"

"Don't worry, I have an idea," Claire assured her, "and now that Aquinas is coming with us, we have nothing to worry about!"

"I beg your pardon?" he said, looking queasy.

"You weren't there last time!" Claire said, as if it were obvious. "That means _you're_ going to have to make all the necessary contact with main characters. You better go chug a few more cups of that coffee, you've got a lot of work to do."

"Fabulous," Aquinas said unenthusiastically.

"Oh, cheer up, Aquinas!" Robin said, punching his arm playfully. "You know you're excited!"

Claire privately agreed. She could hardly wait to get back inside the story, as if it were something sweet she had not tasted in a long time.

"All right," Claire said, taking charge of things. "I think it's best if we just go in what we're wearing. Jeans will be easier to maneuver in than robes."

"Robin's going to have a difficult time chasing after werewolves in that Halloween costume," Aquinas commented, pointing to her many spiky belts and bracelets.

"I'm surprised any blood is getting to your brain, your pants are so tight!" Robin retorted. "You look like an emo."

"A _what_-o?" Aquinas asked, confused.

"You need to get out more," Robin said, rolling her eyes.

"All right, that's enough," Claire said, ending the argument there. "Let's head up to the Bestowing Chamber. We'll do our final preparations there and discuss the plan. Everyone ready?"

Robin and Aquinas nodded, the latter leading the way to the room that would take them back to Hogwarts.

* * *

The three—Robin, Claire, and Aquinas—all dealt with the nerves in a different manner. Claire sat in the corner, muttering to herself and going over her notebook again and again. Robin stood flat against the wall, eyes shut and foot tapping to a beat no one could hear. Aquinas paced about the room, making them all even more antsy. 

"Can't you sit still?" Claire snapped after half an hour of this.

Aquinas seated himself and jiggled his legs up and down, making far more noise than before.

"Claire Woods, Robin Gregory, and Aquinas Smith," said a woman in a yellow jumpsuit, entering the waiting room with a clipboard, "we're ready for you. Do you have everything you need?"

Claire nodded, trying to look more sure of herself than she felt.

"Very well," the woman said with a sigh. "Follow me."

They walked through the door and into a room that was shockingly white. Squinting, Claire obeyed the woman as she directed her and Robin to a large circle in the center of the floor. Aquinas was to stand in a separate circle beside them.

"Ready?" she asked them.

Claire nodded. Robin shrugged. Aquinas sighed.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said, strapping on yellow goggles with a loud _snap!_ "On the count of three, then. One…two…"

Claire closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"…_three!_"

* * *

**a/n:** DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAAAaaaa! So. They're heading back into the story! What will happen when they get there? Will Claire and Robin be able to save the story and follow all the guidelines set by the Council? Will Aquinas cooperate? Will you die of anticipation before you get to read it? Chapter six, guys, it's all in chapter six. 

Also, I forgot to add this last time: I don't own_ The_ _Lord of the Rings, Artemis Fowl, His Dark Materials, A Series of Unfortunate Events,_ or _The Bartimaeus Trilogy_. They belong to the greats J.R.R. Tolkien, Eoin Colfer, Philip Pullman, Lemony Snicket, and Jonathon Stroud, respectively. Just wanted to put that out there before someone sued me. (sweatdrop) See you guys soon with chapter six!


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